Taking What's Left
by Alexandra Irene Spears
Summary: Gale's out of the picture, Peeta's dead, and Katniss and Haymitch have gotten married. Just when Katniss thinks she's safe, she gets news that people loyal to President Snow are not willing to just sit back and accept defeat.
1. End of an Era

Taking What's Left

By Alexandra Spears

 _Disclaimer and Author's Note: The usual. Anything you recognize belongs to Suzanne Collins and not to me. Also, I'm basing this off the movies. I like how Woody Harrelson portrayed Haymitch (don't a lot of us?)._

* * *

Chapter 1: End of an Era

So much has happened in the last two years. At least for me, and for those I love-or have loved, here in District 12 of Panem. Two years ago my little sister Primrose was reaped for the 74th Hunger Games. She was only twelve at the time and I was sixteen. Knowing that she wouldn't have survived two seconds in that arena, I volunteered for her. That act started a chain reaction of events which, ironically, led to the death of my sister at the young age of thirteen.

I found out that my friend, Gale Hawthorne, loved me; yet he showed a completely coldhearted side. He was also indirectly responsible for the death of Prim in the recent war against the Capitol. Last I heard, he's across the country, in District 2. Just as well.

To further muddy things up, my fellow tribute in the Games, baker's son Peeta Mellark, professed his love to me on national television. I'm still not really sure how I feel about him. I care about him, sure. We've been through a lot together. Peeta and I, along with our mentor Haymitch Abernathy, have been working on a book together about the fallen tributes of the Hunger Games. Haymitch is a rather prickly fellow-a lot like me, in fact, to be honest-and I'm really getting to enjoy his company. He was forced to dry out in District 13 during the recent war and I'm pleased that he isn't perpetually drunk anymore.

My mother moved to District 4, as this District 12 holds too many unpleasant memories, including my father's death in a mining accident when I was eleven and Prim was seven. Last I heard, she had invited Annie Cresta Odair, widow of Finnick Odair, to live with her, along with her infant son, Finnegan. That's good. Annie will have a mother figure and someone to help with the baby, who I'm told resembles his late father. If that kid grows up to be half as good-looking at his father, he's going to break a lot of hearts.

Back to Peeta. He's been having a lot of issues lately. When I was rescued from the arena during the Third Quarter Quell, Peeta, along with a few other tributes, were captured by the Capitol. Peeta had been hijacked-tortured with tracker jacker venom. Even now he has issues with going off into some other reality. And there are times when he'll actually try to attack me, thinking I'm a threat. The doctors here-many of them from the Capitol-are trying to help him and his episodes are getting to be fewer and farther between. But there are times when the attacks are really intense, and they're more or less scratching their heads, wondering if he'll be subject to the attacks for the rest of his life. Just last night he was rushed to the hospital that was set up. I was told that the venom has triggered a severe case of meningitis.

I'm at Haymitch's right now. He's my neighbor in the Victors' Village and he's told me that I'm the only real friend he has. I'm worried about Peeta and it was Haymitch's idea for us to get our minds off Peeta and work on the tribute book. Ever since he's sobered up some his house isn't quite the pig sty it used to be. We're sitting at his kitchen table, going over some notes. Occasionally I steal glances at him. He has longish blond hair that kind of hangs in his face, which goes well with his intense blue eyes. There are times when I completely forget that I'm eighteen and he's forty-two-old enough to be my father. Still, I'm no longer a minor, and like most kids growing up in the Seam, I've grown up rather quickly.

"Maybe we should go visit Peeta," Haymitch suggests as leans back in his chair and stretches his arms.

"What if seeing me triggers another attack?" I ask. "Every time he has an attack, he's seen me."

"I don't know, sweetheart," Haymitch sighs as we get to our feet.

 _Sweetheart_. It seems the word has taken on a somewhat different meaning over the past couple of years. When I first met him and he called me that, it was meant sarcastically…but over time, it seems like he means it. And in a good way.

I don't know whether to be worried that it's not said in a fatherly way…but in a more romantic way. My mind races back over the past couple of years…the way Haymitch was admiring the dress that I wore when being interviewed by Caesar Flickerman two years ago…the way he'd gently touch my face, even the times he's comforted me-and even now, he has an arm around my shoulders as we get ready to leave his house.

* * *

When Haymitch and I arrive at the hospital, one of the doctors immediately takes us aside. "I'm afraid I have very bad news for you Mr. Abernathy, Miss Everdeen," he says quietly. "Mr. Mellark has just passed away. The venom-it was too much for him."

I start hyperventilating and Haymitch, standing behind me, gently grips my shoulders. "Easy, sweetheart," he says in a soothing tone.

"I want to see him!" I demand as I break away from him and into Peeta's room.

"Katniss-" Haymitch starts. He gives up and follows me into the room.

Entering Peeta's hospital room, I see him lying there, eyes closed, perfectly still, his blond hair the only splash of color against the white hospital linen. Somehow I can't help but think that this is for the best. He likely would have lived out his life being subject to the effects of that venom, and I would have been a target. The Capitol, in the end, had destroyed him.

I turn and start sobbing on Haymitch's shoulder. Even though Haymitch can be ornery and cantankerous, he seems to have a soft spot when it comes to me, and it shows as he puts his arms around me and comforts me. "He was my friend, too, Katniss," he says softly.

We stand like that for a long time. The Capitol's taken so much from me and it seems like President Snow is having his revenge from beyond the grave. Prim's gone. Peeta is gone. Gale's not the person I thought I knew. Finnick's left behind a wife and child. I can't help but wonder what would have happened if I hadn't volunteered for Prim. District 13, I now know, had been planning this for years, since before my birth. It seems that I'd been selected against my will to be the catalyst. When I volunteered, opportunity knocked and they answered the door.

I guess I should be glad that there will be no more Hunger Games. No longer will kids be forced to fight each other to the death. Under President Paylor, Panem is fast becoming a peaceful nation.

Haymitch finally leads me out of the room. "Let's go home," he says softly. "There's nothing more we can do here."

* * *

Three days later, Peeta is buried in the old cemetery, not too far from where the Hob used to stand. Effie Trinket, who was my and Peeta's escort for the Hunger Games, is there at the funeral, and I'm glad that she isn't wearing something garish-in fact, close to what she wore while living in District 13. She's accompanied by Plutarch Heavensbee, who is now Secretary of Communications. My mother made the journey from District 4 along with Annie and Finnegan. I'm a bit surprised Gale hasn't shown up.

After the funeral we meet at my house. We spend the afternoon talking about Peeta and catching up on things. Haymitch is falling off the wagon, no surprise there. I'm grieving and feeling lonely, but I know that drowning my sorrows in alcohol will make things worse. One can just look at what Haymitch has done to himself over the better part of twenty-five years and get an idea.

Not long after everyone leaves to go back to the Capitol or District 4 or wherever it is they're living, Haymitch passes out on the living room couch. I sigh. Might as well just leave him there to sleep it off. Besides, this house is a mansion compared to what I used to live in with my family, and it's nice to not be alone in it, especially with what has happened.

I go to my room and throw myself down on my bed. I loved Peeta-at least I cared for him. I admit I'm still confused about how I feel about him, and now it doesn't even matter. He's gone. I have basically no one.

I cry myself to sleep, wondering what I'm going to do now and what kind of future I'm going to have.


	2. Realization

Chapter 2: Realization

It's been a month since Peeta's funeral. I'm still a bit amazed at how quickly my mother went back to District 4 afterward. She and I haven't been all that close since my father died and she tuned out of reality and more or less left me to raise Prim. And then District 12 tends to bring back a lot of memories for her.

I'm sitting up in a tree in the forest, just thinking. We're no longer forbidden to venture into the forest. In fact, the districts are now able to communicate freely among themselves. I no longer have to sneak through a possibly-electrified fence; there's no longer one here to keep us penned up in our district like animals. Hunting is no longer forbidden.

I had been considering settling down with Peeta. I'd always said I didn't want children, but that was because I didn't want to see them get reaped, then thrown into an arena to die-or become murderers for the Capitol's entertainment. Haymitch is right. There are no winners in such a situation, only survivors. If you survive, you're left with the thought that you're a killer and it eats at you if you have any kind of a conscience, and I sure didn't like the idea that it could happen to a child of mine. I don't like the fact that I've killed people. When I dropped that tracker-jacker nest on the Careers, that was not so much to kill any of them, but to chase them away. Glimmer comes to mind. She's the girl from District 1 who was killed by those tracker-jackers.

When I killed Marvel, the District 1 male, I thought I was protecting myself and Rue, the girl from District 11, the girl who reminded me so much of Prim and who I thought of as another sister. I was too late, as he managed to spear her just as I was letting fly with an arrow. I wish I was able to help Rue. Only twelve years old. She was too young, too gentle, too compassionate for such a thing. I remember Peeta saying that he wanted to die as himself. That's what Rue did.

With Cato, the boy from District 2, it was a mercy killing. The mutts were tearing him apart and what I did was cut short his suffering. I believe that at the end Cato knew what it was all about. I have to wonder-had he lived, would he have been one of us in District 13?

I draw my knees up and rest my forehead on them and begin to sob, my dark braid hanging down. All I wanted to do was save my little sister from certain death. In the end she died anyway. I only gave her one more year of life. At least there are no more Hunger Games.

"Hey, you okay, sweetheart?"

I look down and see Haymitch standing there, looking up at me. He's been getting out more instead of staying holed up in his house and getting plastered, and he doesn't look quite so down-and-out. One thing about me and Haymitch is that we understand each other. We're more alike than we were willing to admit at first. I wipe my nose and sniffle. "I'm okay," I say, rather unconvincingly.

"Why don't you come on down? Maybe we can work on that book some more," he suggests.

"I can't right now," I sigh, the tears threatening to resume with a vengeance.

"Well, at least come down," Haymitch asks.

Haymitch is just about the only friend I have in District 12. I climb down, and as I reach the bottom I feel his hands on my waist as he helps me. Though I really don't need the help. Before I can say anything, he takes my hand and leads me to a nearby stream, where we sit down on the cold ground. It's October and the leaves are turning all sorts of different colors. Was it only two years ago, or close to it, that he was helping me and Peeta with our Victory Tour for the 74th Hunger Games?

"Never thought I'd enjoy nature," he comments as we look out over the stream. "I just keep remembering that arena, when I was in it. It was truly too good to be true. Guess I'm a bit mistrustful of that kind of thing."

I remember seeing a video of Haymitch's time in the arena, twenty-six years ago. Everything had been so beautiful in the arena-and poisonous. He had allied with Maysilee Donner, who had been a friend of my mother's. Her twin sister grew up and married Mayor Undersee, and their daughter Madge was my friend. Madge and her parents were killed when the Capitol destroyed District 12. As I had done with Rue, Haymitch had stayed by Maysilee's side until she died. He knows where I'm coming from.

"At least you know that here, what you see is what you get," I say.

I feel his arm around me and I lean up against him. He's my mentor-or he was-and my friend. I let him comfort me, though I'm a bit wary of being close to a man like this, so soon after Peeta's death. I'm just a whirl of confusion. Who do I like? Who do I love? For all I know, maybe it's just hormones. I do know that I don't think of Haymitch as a dirty old man. A bit uncouth, yes. Cynical, definitely. I really don't care that he's forty-two. I'm an adult, physically as well as chronologically.

I know he has to be lonely. After he showed the Capitol up by using the force field as a weapon to finish off a Career tribute and win the 50th Hunger Games, his mother, younger brother, and girlfriend were killed by President Snow. He hasn't had a serious relationship with a woman since, though I'm sure he's been around at least a little bit, especially when going to the Capitol as mentor. I have to wonder if he is looking for that special someone.

"Real or not real," he murmurs.

That reminds me of a game we'd started to play with Peeta, when the tracker jacker venom would affect his mind. Tears come back to my eyes.

"That was stupid of me," he says, noticing.

He holds me as I cry on his shoulder. It feels good to at least have someone hold you. It's good to know that I'm not totally alone in the world. Haymitch can be ill-tempered at times, but he has a heart.

Before I know it, he's tilting up my chin. I feel his lips brush mine and I jump back, startled at this. It's too soon…Peeta hasn't been gone very long…too soon….

"I'm sorry-I shouldn't have done that," he says.

"It's okay," I tell him. All I had ever done with Peeta was kiss. I can't help but wonder just how far Haymitch was going to go. Then I'm wondering exactly what Haymitch thinks of me and feels about me. He's a lot older and likely very experienced.

He reaches over and gently unravels my braid, so my hair falls in dark waves to my shoulders. "I think I like this better on you," he says as he then cups my cheek, the way he's done in the past, while mentoring me and Peeta.

"Makes it a bit harder to hunt," I comment. I actually like this attention from Haymitch. Why not? I ask myself. Peeta's gone. Forget about Gale. Haymitch is the only one here I can really cling to and lean on.

"It's getting dark out, that'd make it harder too," he points out as he gets to his feet and gently pulls me to my own. "Why don't we go to my place and just sit for a while-and work on the book? I think it'll help."

* * *

Haymitch actually has some cooking ability. As I go over the notes for the District 3 tributes, he makes dinner for us. I recall District 3 resident and Hunger Games victor Beetee Latier, who was a big help in the rebellion, and I wonder how he's doing, being in a wheelchair and all. He's someone I'd definitely call friend.

I find doing the research for this book to be therapeutic. It's the why I'm doing it. I want all these people to be remembered, what they went through. There are times when you have to rehash things, so people won't forget; after all, those who don't know their history are doomed to repeat it, and I for one do not want the atrocities of the past seventy-five years to be repeated. I think it's helping Haymitch too, to be able to talk about his experiences. He was literally holding his guts in when he managed to take down that Career tribute.

None of us has any physical scars. When you win a Hunger Games, you're fixed up, good as new. But there are emotional and psychological scars. Look at poor Annie. She saw her district partner get his head taken off, and since then she hasn't been really right in the head. She and Finnick weren't married for very long at all before he died-they were married just long enough to conceive a son. At least she has part of Finnick with her.

"Hope this is good," Haymitch says as he sets down dinner. He's managed to cook up a groosling.

"Well, you didn't use the smoke alarm as a timer," I joke as I look down at my plate. Doesn't look bad at all. A lot better than roasting it over a campfire, which is what I did a couple of years ago during the Games.

Haymitch sits down and starts eating while he looks over some of our notes. It seems to me that he's drinking a lot less than he used to. That tells me that he seems hopeful. The Capitol no longer controls us or starves us. We're actually free. Still, there are the memories of those times to contend with. I still have nightmares on occasion.

We spend a cozy evening together, having dinner and working on our project. I still can't help but think of Peeta. It hurts less, though, as time goes on. Haymitch isn't his usual sarcastic self; he's more matter-of-fact this evening. A few times I catch him more or less staring at me, though when we make eye contact he quickly looks at his notes.

A few hours later it's time for me to go home. Haymitch walks me to my house. "So what are your plans for tomorrow?" he asks as we stand in front of my front door.

"Just the usual, I guess," I reply. Hunting isn't a necessity, though I do love wandering around outdoors. "Maybe come over and work on the book some more."

* * *

Over the course of the bitterly cold winter, Haymitch and I continue working on the book. It's too cold to hunt, too cold to do anything, really, except work on that project. Thanks to open communication among the districts, we're able to place phone calls to different people in different districts and ask about their past victors. Families of past victors-and victims-are more than happy to give information when they realize why we're doing this. They're in pain too, and it makes them feel good to know that their child or cousin or whoever won't be forgotten, relegated to the dust bin of history.

One evening in January we're taking a break from the book. We're at his house, sitting on the couch in front of the fireplace, just talking. It's Haymitch's forty-third birthday and I've given him a birthday card. I want to give him something else, too, since I've been thinking about it the last few months. I'm just screwing up my courage.

Finally I kneel on the couch, take his face in my hands, and kiss him on the lips. "Happy birthday, Haymitch," I tell him.

He smiles. "Sweetheart, that's the best present I could get from you at this point."

I sit and snuggle up to him. There's something about a freezing winter night and being in front of a cozy fire with someone you want to be with. It's been four months since Peeta died and I think I'm on my way to being over him, though I really don't want to mention that to Haymitch. Not on his birthday.

* * *

Over the course of the next few months, Haymitch and I do things together, the book being one of them. I've been teaching him how to hunt and sometimes we go fishing together at the stream. I never pegged him as an outdoorsy type, but he seems to enjoy it. We share a kiss occasionally, but that's all, since my mother has told me it's best to wait until marriage to do anything else. A lot of it is common-sense stuff. I've seen Seam girls who didn't wait and wind up having it hard, raising babies born out of wedlock, and I'm sure quite a few of those kids were fathered by Cray, who was one of our Peacekeepers a couple of years ago. The Capitol didn't want us getting our hands on birth control, lest we dry up the supply of tributes. Never mind that people starved to death. Just keep punching them out and you may have a few reach adulthood, provided they haven't been tossed into the arena.

On my nineteenth birthday in May, Haymitch knocks at my door. He seems really nervous as I let him in, which is highly unusual. Usually nothing seems to faze him much.

"So what brings you here?" I ask as I sit down in an armchair.

"Well, I thought I'd stop by and wish you a happy birthday," he says.

"Thanks. By the way, have you been hitting the bottle again? Your face is all flushed."

"Barely touched the stuff the last few months. Been wanting to get you something," he replies. He paces a little and runs his hand through his blond hair, sweeping it back from his face. "Okay, it's now or never…."

I look at him oddly.

He suddenly goes down on one knee and takes my hand. "Katniss Everdeen-will you marry me?"

It takes me a moment to register what he's just asked me. I find myself squeaking out, "Yes."


	3. Capitol Wedding

Chapter 3: Capitol Wedding

The minute Effie Trinket got wind of my and Haymitch's engagement, she went into full battle mode and took over the planning of our wedding. "I'd like for you two to be married here in the Capitol," she told me over the phone a week after Haymitch's proposal.

So now it's the next day, and Haymitch and I are back on the train, headed for the Capitol, with Effie as our chaperone. We plan to be married on June 7 and there's lots to do to get ready for the occasion.

"Haymitch, I _do_ hope you won't consume too much on your wedding day," Effie scolds him as he sits there, having a drink.

"Don't worry, I'll still be able to… _function_ that night," he says with a grin.

Effie gives him a look, and I know that Haymitch just said that to yank her chain. It's actually fun to listen to their banter. Effie's the prissy, proper, always-on-time type, and Haymitch, who has no use for manners, believes in taking it easy.

At the same time, his comment makes me think about what's going to happen that night. I find myself hoping he won't be too drunk to do anything. He's cut back quite a bit on his drinking, but on occasion I can still find him with a bottle or a shot glass in his hand. He's especially prone on special occasions.

Effie and I continue going through a wedding fashion magazine. A lot of the dresses that are featured were styled by Cinna, who was my stylist for the last two Hunger Games and who really pushed the "Girl on Fire" theme. He was killed by Snow's flunkies and it turned out he was a rebel. I really liked Cinna; he was yet another person I called friend. He was down-to-earth, quiet, and friendly, not loud and shallow like most Capitol citizens. I want my dress to be one that was designed by Cinna.

I can't help but notice that Haymitch isn't the only one sobering up a bit. Effie's wardrobe isn't quite as garish or gaudy. She's still dressed stylishly, but it's more tasteful, and she's not wearing a wig to cover up her naturally blond hair. I wonder if her time in District 13 helped make that change come about.

* * *

Effie's not the only one who's sobered up when it comes to fashion. When we step off the train, I notice that the Capitol itself seems a bit more sober. There are still people with off-the-wall body art and clothes, but on the whole, it seems that everyone's toned it down a bit. It's almost like they're atoning for the way the districts suffered under Capitol rule for seventy-five years. Or it could be another passing fad.

She leads me and Haymitch to what was the Training Center. Haymitch holds my hand as we enter. Tributes used to live here and train for the Games. "It's a hotel now," she explains. "The gymnasium no longer has weapons, but people who stay here can use exercise equipment. We'll be staying on the District 12 floor. You two will have separate rooms until you're married."

The next few weeks are a flurry of activity. Effie has friends come and take my measurements for my wedding dress, and there are a couple of guys doing the same for Haymitch. The wedding is to take place at the presidential mansion, where President Paylor resides. My mother has actually showed up at the Capitol, along with Annie and one-year-old Finnegan, and they're going to stay in our suite.

During one of the rare times I have a break, I'm sitting in the living room holding the baby on my lap. Annie's sitting down and telling me what all has been going on in District 4. She still seems a little unstable at times, but it could be a lot worse, given that she lost Finnick so soon after marrying him.

I look into Finnegan's cute little face. He has red-gold hair and sea-green eyes. He looks so much like his father. Finnick would have been proud to have such a good-looking son, I think. Finnick was prostituted by Snow starting around the age of sixteen but that never seemed to bother Annie, probably because she knew that she was the one he truly loved.

"He gets into everything," Annie says as I set Finnegan down so he can walk around. "And he loves the water. He's coming to think of your mother as his grandma." Annie and my mother look after each other. I know that Annie is like another daughter to my mother.

Johanna Mason, who's from District 7, marches up to us. "We have more fittings, can you believe it?" she says to us. "Why don't you guys just elope and get it done and over with?"

"Effie would die if she heard you say that," I say as I stand up.

Johanna grins wickedly. I have yet to meet anyone more cynical and brash than Johanna. I don't know of many girls who would just strip naked in front of complete strangers like she did during the Third Quarter Quell.

* * *

The morning of June 7, we're at the presidential mansion. My mother and Effie are helping me with my dress, which is pure white and covered with pearls. Effie is my maid of honor and Johanna, Annie, and Cressida are my bridesmaids. Rue's littlest sister is the flower girl.

Effie was like a slavedriver at last night's rehearsal dinner. I was sure Haymitch was going to rehearse his drinking before it was all over. "I only plan on doing this once," he told me at the end.

The ceremony starts. Beetee wheels in; he's going to give me away. He has a new wheelchair, which he can control with a small lever on one of its arms. "Are you ready?" he asks quietly as he positions the chair so he can hold my right forearm.

I take a deep breath. "As ready as I'll ever be. I don't think I was this nervous going into the arena."

He chuckles. "Let's get you married off."

We come down the aisle. Beetee does an excellent job at keeping his wheelchair at just the right speed, so I can march and not sprint down the aisle. Haymitch is waiting there at the altar, dressed in white, and looking like he could use a drink right about now; I can tell he's a bit nervous. Everyone in attendance stands up.

Finally I come to the altar, and Haymitch takes my hand, and we face the official who's performing the ceremony. Beetee quietly rolls his wheelchair to the front row.

I can sense Haymitch is getting a bit antsy as the official goes through the whole spiel. Finally we say our vows and exchange rings. "I now pronounce you husband and wife," the official says. "You may kiss your bride."

Haymitch does that. In a move that surprises me a bit and is guaranteed to yank Effie's chain, he actually dips me and gives me a deep kiss. I hear hoots and hollers of approval from everyone. After a few moments he pulls me back up and we face our guests.

I am now Katniss Abernathy. Mrs. Haymitch Abernathy.

* * *

The reception takes place in the ballroom of the mansion. I notice that this time, Capitol citizens are a lot less wasteful. I remember being here with Peeta, celebrating our "victory" in the 74th Hunger Games. People actually drank stuff to make them throw up so they could stuff their faces some more-and with people starving in most of the districts. My guess is that they've been made to see how shameful it is, to demand things of the districts, to the point where they have virtually nothing-and then to waste it. The populace of the Capitol was jerked out of its bubble and made to face reality.

Haymitch and I decide to hang around for a few hours. People cheer whenever we kiss, and they bang spoons against glasses to let us know they want to see more of it. It's good to be applauded for expressing love for someone, instead of being applauded for trying to kill someone.

"Sweetheart…all this kissing…I think it's time we took this little party elsewhere. Like to our room," Haymitch whispers in my ear.

I know what he means. There's a car outside waiting for us, and we get into it, but not before having several bagfuls of rice thrown at us.

Haymitch carries me into our suite at the hotel. He can be rather romantic when he wants to be. He sets me down on my feet, then leads me into what's now our bedroom. "Why don't you go change into something a bit more comfortable?" he suggests.

I go into the massive bathroom to change. I carefully put my wedding dress into its garment bag. A flame-colored teddy is hanging up nearby, waiting. I change into it, look at myself in the full-length mirror, and take a deep breath.

Haymitch is relaxing on the bed, and I see that he's changed into a red robe with black piping. "Girl on fire, eh?" he says as I approach the bed. "Come on over here, and I'll show you what it means to be on fire."

He does just that. I'm pleased that he's actually very gentle as we consummate our marriage, and when it's over, I cuddle up to him and fall asleep in his arms.

* * *

Nightmares can hit me at any time, and they have quite a bit ever since my father died, and then they increased in frequency after I first participated in those cursed Games, and more so after Prim died. You would think that they wouldn't affect me on my wedding night, of all nights, but they do.

I wake up crying out. Next to me, Haymitch, who's finally taken to sleeping at night, is waking up. I half-expect him to snap at me for waking him up, but he knows what it's like to have these nightmares and is actually sympathetic. "It's okay, sweetheart, I'm here," he says as he gently strokes the sides of my face.

Seeing that Haymitch-my husband-is there next to me, I cling to him. "I need you, Haymitch," I whisper.

He knows what I mean, and he gives me something that helps calm me down. I never knew Haymitch could be so tender. It's not like he shows that side of him very often; he usually comes across as a surly drunkard.

When it's over I manage to go back to sleep and stay asleep until morning.

* * *

I wake up to the feel of Haymitch's fingers in my long, dark hair. I'm in his arms, and he's gently stroking my hair. "That was incredible last night," I tell him as I raise my head and lightly kiss him on his lips.

"Yeah, it was," he agrees. He grins, then sits up. "I'm gonna get a shower. Want to join me?"

My cheeks flush a little bit, which makes him grin again. "Okay," I finally agree. I'm still getting used to being married…we've been married for not even a day so far. I have a feeling this is not going to be a quick, five-minute shower.

After our shower, which takes the better part of an hour, we sit down to breakfast. Effie and everyone else have checked out and gone home, so it's just me and Haymitch. I can't help but study Haymitch as we sit there. We've shared something very precious last night, and I can't help but see him in a different light. I feel like I've gotten to _know_ him, in every sense of the word.

I catch him studying me, and I look at him. "You were worth the wait," he finally says. "After my girlfriend was killed, all those years ago…I never thought I'd find anyone else."

As for me, I still miss Peeta in a way, but I'm just about over it. I'm still not sure how I really felt about him and now that he's gone, it doesn't really matter anymore. I'm inclined to think that it was the "in love" feeling you get when you first start dating someone, but goes away as the shine wears off, prompting you to find someone else with whom you get that "in love" feeling. With Haymitch, it's much deeper than that. "I first had a crush on you not long after you started mentoring me," I finally say.

Haymitch smiles at that; he's apparently considering what would have happened, had I made that known during the entire "star-crossed lovers" bit. "I didn't think you'd want someone like me," he says. "I guess you kind of crept up on me."

"That's what Finnick said about Annie. She crept up on him," I say.

* * *

After a month-long honeymoon, Haymitch and I come home to District 12. My things have since been moved into Haymitch's house and I notice that the place has been redecorated. I remember hearing Effie saying something about hiring a decorator, and it looks like she's made good on that. Haymitch and I really like Effie; she's like an aunt or something to us. Even though Haymitch gets his kicks out of annoying her. There are times when I think she's not all that shallow.

"Home sweet home," Haymitch sighs as we go into our house. The place is spotless and Effie's decorators have done a really good job making it look homey and comfortable. Haymitch tends to act like he doesn't care about such things but I know it makes him feel better. I know I feel better, stepping into a welcoming place.

Time to get back into a routine-whatever that routine is. We've been making good progress on the book, though it was put on hold for the past month.


	4. A New Addition

Chapter 4: A New Addition

It's towards the end of July and it can get pretty hot in this part of Panem. I'm out hunting and I'm feeling nauseous; come to think of it for the past few days I've been feeling tired. I figure maybe it's the heat and I need to drink, so I go to the stream to fill up my water bottle. Haymitch is at the stream, fishing. He actually seems to like it. I like to encourage him to get out more and as time goes on he looks less and less wasted.

Haymitch is sitting there wearing jeans and no shirt. "Nice and cool under this tree, sweetheart," he comments as he leans back. "Maybe you could join me."

I'm kneeling down and ready to dunk my water bottle when I realize I'm going to lose it. My stomach feels like it's churning like crazy. There's no way I can hold it back, so I turn away from the stream and empty out my stomach into the long grass.

"What did I say?" I hear Haymitch asking from behind me.

Ignoring him, I go to the stream, fill my bottle, and rinse out my mouth. Surprisingly I actually feel better. I sit back and look up at Haymitch, who's looking concerned. "I'm okay," I tell him. "Maybe it's the heat. I'm also a bit tired."

"Yeah, it's the heat," he nods. Satisfied that I'll live, he goes and sits down.

I take off my long-sleeved shirt, revealing a tank top I have on underneath. I sit down next to Haymitch and lean up against him. He holds his fishing rod with one hand and puts the opposite arm around my shoulders. "Sweetheart…has it ever occurred to you that maybe, just maybe, you have a bun in the oven?"

I sit up. "What?"

He turns his head and looks at me. "If you were suffering from heatstroke, you'd be feeling a lot worse. In fact, your skin doesn't really feel hot," he explains. "What else could make you just lose it like that?"

Suddenly it hits me. "Haymitch…I was supposed to start my period a few days ago. It hasn't come yet," I say slowly. Could it be true? Could Haymitch and I have actually started a new life?

"Well, sweetheart…I think we should get you to the clinic and find out for sure," he says as he stands up and pulls me to my feet. He grabs his short-sleeved shirt and pulls it on, and I take up the long-sleeved shirt I dropped nearby.

As we walk back to town, he buttons up his shirt halfway and I tie the sleeves of my shirt around my waist. "Haymitch-have you ever- _fathered_ any children by any women?" I ask. For some reason I have to know. Yeah, it's stupid…but for once I'd like to be the first-the only-woman to have something of Haymitch.

"Nope," he replies. "I used them as much as they used me, and I made sure that nothing ever came of it-I got those contraceptive shots from the Capitol. Besides, I haven't been around the block _that_ much. I preferred drinking." He grins. "Come to think of it, some of them, I _had_ to be drunk first." He takes my hand as we continue to walk.

I feel relieved. I may not be the first woman Haymitch has ever had, but I'm the one who is married to him, and I'm going to be the one to have his child, from the looks of things.

"So what brought that on?" he says after a few moments.

"I don't know…I guess a bit of jealousy," I admit.

"You don't have to worry about a thing, sweetheart. I married you. That means that you're the one I want," he reassures me. "If I wasn't sure, if I still wanted to run around, I wouldn't have bothered."

I stop and step in front of him. "I love you," I tell him.

He cups my face in his hands. "I love you too," he says in reply. "Now let's go and see if I'm going to be a father."

* * *

At the clinic, Haymitch sits in the room with me while a female doctor draws a blood sample. It's really quick and easy, just a slight prick of the finger.

I think of Prim as I watch the doctor work. Prim wanted to be a doctor. Instead, she's lying in the ground at the age of thirteen. She would have loved the prospect of becoming an aunt, of having a little niece or nephew.

"The test result is positive. Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Abernathy," the doctor says. "Katniss is almost five weeks along." She then gives us instructions. "I want to see you back here in four weeks."

* * *

I'm in my second month and sick just about every blasted morning. Sometimes it hits me in the afternoon or even in the evening.

One afternoon I wake up from a nap and find Haymitch in the kitchen, nursing a drink. "You're finally up," he slurs. "Why do you sleep so blasted much?"

"Because I'm pregnant," I remind him. "And why are you drinking so much?"

He seems to stare at the ceiling as he thinks about it. "Because I think I'm gonna make a lousy father," he finally replies.

"Looks like that's going to be a self-fulfilling prophecy," I tell him as I jerk the whiskey bottle away from him and sit it on the kitchen counter. He doesn't need to be drinking. There are times when he seems to be able to go without for a while, then some thought hits him and before you know it he's hitting the bottle. I've known him for three years, been married to him for two months. I've learned a lot about what makes him tick.

"We can't hardly do anything together, you're always feeling sick or sleeping," he adds.

"It's not going to last long," I assure him. "Lots of times, by the time a woman's into her fourth month, she's feeling a lot better-and has more energy." I'm not lying. My mother has worked with pregnant women. The first few months are misery, and after that they feel better, as a rule.

"I don't deserve a family," Haymitch rambles on as he rests his forehead on his arms. "Mine got killed a long time ago. What's gonna go wrong when we have our baby?"

I've got it. He's feeling guilty again. "Nothing if we don't let it," I say as I gently rub his shoulders. "I don't think you'd want to be drunk while holding our baby, for starters."

"I don't deserve anything good to happen to me. All those tributes. Gone. Killed," he murmurs.

Tears come to my eyes. I certainly regret my part in the Games. I never wanted to kill anyone. I never wanted a war or anything. All I ever wanted was to live my life in peace. I've lost friends and loved ones too.

Haymitch sits up straight and turns his chair. I can see nothing but sadness and regret in those blue eyes of his as he looks up at me.

"You're going to kill yourself with that stuff," I say as I look into his eyes. "Your son or daughter might very well get to grow up without a father."

"I know, I know," he says, clearly trying to get me off the subject. "It's how I deal."

"You need to find another way to deal," I tell him.

"Or what-you'll leave?"

"I have no intention of leaving you. Ever," I tell him. "Haymitch…I care a lot about you. I don't want to see you doing this to yourself. I'm glad you're not doing it nearly as much…but I'd still rather not see you do it at all."

"I don't deserve you, either, sweetheart," he says as his head droops. "I'm just nothing but a cantankerous old drunk."

He's throwing a pity party and wants me to join in. "Haymitch, I married you because I love you. I don't want you to destroy yourself. Look at it this way-we're bringing a new life into the world, instead of taking it out."

Haymitch has clearly had quite a lot to drink, because he suddenly jumps up and bolts for the bathroom. I know what that's like. Except in my case it's not from being smashed.

I go into the bathroom and help him to our bedroom and strip him down to his underwear. Then we lie down on the bed together. I'm trying to make him see he has a reason not to self-destruct. He has me, we have a baby on the way-I'm thinking that should be something he'd want to live for.

"Sweetheart, why do you put up with me?" he asks.

"Because I love you," I reply. "For better or for worse, remember? Though I'd like to see more better and less worse."

* * *

Haymitch finds out I was right about feeling better midway through pregnancy. At around twelve weeks the nausea finally stops, thankfully. I feel much more energetic-and more than making up for feeling lousy the first few months. Let's just say Haymitch doesn't have as much time to drink lately, since I'm giving him quite a lot more attention. And he seems to have pretty good stamina for a forty-three-year-old.

Little by little the clinics in the poorer districts are being modernized. A few years ago the Capitol had all the technology, supplied by District 3. Now it's coming to all the districts.

Early in November I'm twenty weeks along, and Haymitch is chomping at the bit, wanting to know if we're having a son or a daughter. I'd like to know too, so I know what to call the baby. I already know what to call a girl-Rosilee. Take the last part of Primrose and combine it with Maysilee, and you have another spelling of Rosalie. It's my way of honoring my little sister and my mother's best friend. We're still debating what to call the baby if it's a boy.

We're sitting at the clinic, in the waiting room. I don't seem to be showing all that much, but then again I get plenty of exercise. The doctor has told me that being in shape should make labor quite a bit easier. Not that I have any kind of a baseline, since this is my first child.

Finally the doctor calls us in. We go into a room that has a special scanner, where I change into a gown and sit in a special reclining chair. The doctor runs an instrument like a wand over my bare belly and we can see the baby on the screen. It's in color, too.

"It's a girl!" the doctor tells us.

Haymitch is staring at the screen, totally transfixed.

I watch our daughter on the screen. She seems to be having fun in there and she occasionally sucks her thumb. I find myself wondering what Rosilee's personality will be like. Right now she's so completely innocent. She has no idea what her father and I have been through. I'm thankful she'll never be reaped or feel compelled to volunteer to participate in those atrocities.

"You have a name for her?" the doctor asks us as she turns off the machine.

"Rosilee," Haymitch answers. He then spells it.

Now that it's established that we're having a daughter, and now that I can refer to her by her name, it's starting to feel like there are three in our family instead of just two. "Now we know how to set up the nursery," I say.

"Just don't let Effie at it," Haymitch comments. "I'm not much for really bold colors. We can get some nice things for her, now that we're getting stuff in from District 8."

* * *

The evening of March 20, labor starts. "Get me to the clinic now!" I say as a contraction hits.

At this point we've acquired a car and learned how to drive it-more evidence that the districts are coming out of that long period of deprivation. Haymitch helps me into the passenger side and gets in behind the wheel. "You're not drunk, are you?" I ask. The last thing I need is to crack up while in labor.

"I haven't had a drink in a week," he says as he starts the engine. "But I could sure use one now!"

Haymitch has a bit of a lead foot and we're at the clinic in practically no time. He helps me out of the car, then leads me to the new maternity ward. "My wife's in labor," he says to the first nurse he sees.

We're led to a room, where the nurse gives me a gown to change into. "Dr. Traner will be with you shortly," she says. "How far apart are your contractions?"

"Five minutes," I tell her.

The nurse leaves, and Haymitch helps me into the gown. I sit on the bed and another contraction comes. "You know this is your fault," I inform him as it subsides.

"Oh, there you go, blaming me. I didn't exactly hear you say no," he says, catching on that I'm actually teasing him a bit.

I'm in labor the entire night, and it does not get easier. Just the opposite. The farther along my labor goes, the worse it hurts, and I think to myself I am _never_ doing this again. They don't believe in giving morphling or anything either-not good for the baby. Haymitch seems to be really worried as he's sitting there, unable to sleep.

"Doc, she's in really bad pain, don't you have anything you can give her?" Haymitch implores at one point.

"It shouldn't be very long now, Mr. Abernathy," the doctor says as she pulls on a rubber glove and pokes around to see how far things have opened up inside. "She's fully dilated and ready to go."

 _Yeah. Try staring at a clock while you're in the worst pain imaginable and tell_ me _it won't be long,_ I think. Seconds seem like minutes and minutes like hours. But hearing what Dr. Traner said…I'm seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.

I grab onto Haymitch's hand as things really get going. The doctor instructs me to push every time I have a contraction. It's tiring. I've hardly been able to get any rest all night and it's morning now. I know Haymitch has to be tired out. But I'm glad he's there with me, coaching me, keeping me focused on giving birth to our baby girl.

I'm tiring out. I can't keep going anymore. "C'mon sweetheart, just a little more…she's coming out!" Haymitch tells me.

That gives me a second wind. I bear down again, and this time I feel something happening. In my half-sitting position, I can see Dr. Traner supporting baby Rosilee as she makes her way into the world. I flop back, tired out from it all, and glad that the worst part is over.

Dr. Traner places the baby on my belly and covers her with a light receiving blanket. I know that she has to wait until the cord stops pulsing before it can be cut. I never knew Haymitch was a sucker for babies-he's cooing at our daughter and grinning at her like a nut. Maybe he's a sucker for our baby.

Hours later, I've been cleaned up and had a nap, and Haymitch has had a shower. I'm lying in bed in the maternity ward, holding our daughter in my arms, having just fed her. She has dark hair, quite a lot of it, and she already has her father's eyes.

"I've never held a baby before," Haymitch confesses as he reaches for Rosilee.

"Just make sure to support her head," I tell him.

He carefully lifts the baby out of my arms and gets a good look at her. Somehow I have the feeling that Rosilee's going to be a daddy's girl. I watch as he counts her little fingers and gently strokes her cheek with his finger. I think it's hitting him that he's the father of this baby. I'm more used to the idea that I'm the mother, because I'm the one who carried her for nine months.

He sits down on a nearby chair, not taking his eyes off her. "She looks like you, Haymitch," I tell him.

"I know…I see that," he says, clearly awed. "But her hair's the same color as yours." He gently kisses Rosilee's forehead.

One thing I notice is that I've forgotten about the pain already. I know it hurt like crazy, but I really don't remember it.

I watch my husband and daughter get to know each other a bit better. I can tell Haymitch is already crazy about Rosilee. It's almost like she's given him-and me-a new lease on life.


	5. Unrest

Chapter 5: Unrest

Three days after Rosilee's birth, Haymitch and I bring her home and lay her down in her brand-new crib in her nursery, which has been decorated in pastels. I'm glad that Haymitch and I have this house, instead of my old one in the Seam, which was destroyed. Rosilee will be safe, warm, and happy. I'm going to see to it that her childhood is one of security and happiness, things Prim and I never had.

We gaze at her for a few moments. Finally I turn to Haymitch. "I'm going to lie down," I tell him as I give him a kiss on his lips. "I'm still a bit worn out."

"Okay," he says as he gently lifts Rosilee from her crib and sits in the nearby rocking chair with her. She's just been fed so I know she'll be fine; I think Haymitch is wanting to rock her to sleep. And if he lays off the booze, I think as I go into our bedroom, he's going to turn out to be a good father. Anyone can tell that he just adores his little girl.

I lie down on our bed, kick my shoes off, and close my eyes. I manage to fall asleep, but then I start dreaming. In my dream a twelve-year-old Rosilee, looking so much like Prim but with my hair and Haymitch's eyes, is being reaped for another Hunger Games. And it's Snow himself calling out the names.

Then I'm being shaken awake. My eyes fly open and I sit up. Haymitch is sitting there. "You all right, sweetheart?" he asks.

I lunge forward and wrap my arms around Haymitch, who hugs me to him. "I had a dream that Rosilee's name was called…she was being reaped…," I sob.

"That's not going to happen," he says firmly. "Not if we have anything to say about it."

The last thing he said makes me sit up straight and look at him. "What do you mean? It's over with, isn't it? We defeated the Capitol. No more Hunger Games. No more sending children to fight to the death."

Haymitch heaves a sigh. "Yesterday I got a call from Plutarch Heavensbee. I guess there are some people who were loyal to Snow and his regime who are wanting to oust President Paylor."

"But-but we defeated them. The Capitol has changed," I say.

"Sweetheart, do you really think that those who had that power are willing to just let things lie?" Haymitch points out. "There are people out there who are not satisfied until they control everyone's lives. Now they haven't taken over the Capitol or anything, but don't fool yourself-they're working on it. President Paylor has people who are loyal to her and who will protect her at all costs. Nothing has happened. Plutarch just gave us a head's-up at this point."

"I thought we were safe!" I cry.

Haymitch puts a finger to his lips. "The baby's sleeping," he says in a quiet tone. "Katniss…even if they were to take over the Capitol, they may not even hold any more Hunger Games. You're thinking worst-case scenario here. Think about it. The seventy-five years they were going on, people got angrier and angrier, especially when they watched the youngest kids, such as Rue, die. They're not going to want that. They'll likely not make that same mistake again. All the same, we need to be ready."

"They'll come after us, won't they?" I ask. "I was the Mockingjay."

"Plutarch advised me that we should move to the Capitol, where we'd be safer. The districts aren't as secure as they can be at this point," Haymitch explains. "Especially 12."

"Wouldn't there be operatives in the Capitol?" I really don't want to leave District 12. The Capitol is too busy for my liking.

"They'd be here too," he points out. "I'm to let Plutarch know by tomorrow morning what we want to do. If we decide to relocate to the Capitol, a train will come for us in a few days. They have a house for us to live in, near the presidential mansion, and he said it's very secure."

Tears stream down my cheeks as I nod. Haymitch is right. It's foolish to expect that those who were taken from power would just sit back and accept their defeat.

* * *

Three days later, I'm carrying Rosilee in my arms as Haymitch and I board the train. Plutarch Heavensbee and Effie Trinket are waiting for us.

"Oh, what a beautiful baby!" Effie exclaims as she gets a good look at my six-day-old daughter. "And to think she resembles Haymitch."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Haymitch says as he sits down on a sofa.

I gently place the baby in the bassinet that's nearby. Plutarch has a bit of a smile as he watches me with Rosilee. "Congratulations on your baby," he says to me and Haymitch.

I straighten up and look at Plutarch. "My child's in danger, isn't she?" I ask.

"She could be," he replies. "She's the child of District 12's last two living victors-and the child of the Mockingjay. Don't worry, Mrs. Abernathy, President Paylor's security team is trustworthy, and will keep your home safe until we make sure Snow's lackeys are contained."

I think Plutarch's making this sound easier than what it is. I've been through war. I've been a figurehead. I know this isn't going to be a week-long stay or a month-long stay. It could be a while. I just hope Haymitch doesn't start drowning himself in liquor again; he's been coming out of that, now that he has an infant daughter to think of. At least he's trying to keep us safe.

* * *

The trip to the Capitol is an overnight one, as it takes almost half a day to get there from District 12. As soon as I've fed and changed Rosilee, I put her into the crib that's in the room adjoining our bedroom. Minutes later, she's asleep, so I go and get into bed with Haymitch so I can get some sleep before she wakes up for her middle-of-the-night feeding.

"You know, if you just used a bottle, I could get up with her once in a while so you can get some sleep," he says sleepily as he holds me in his arms.

"Nursing's best for a baby," I remind him. "Besides, there are no bottles to warm up or prepare. I'm back to bed sooner."

"You got a point there," he says as he drifts off.

I snuggle up to Haymitch and drift off.

It seems I've just gone to sleep when I hear Rosilee start to cry. Time for a feeding. I get up and go into the nursery, where I pick up my baby girl and cuddle her. "You're hungry, aren't you?" I ask as I carry her into the bedroom and sit down on the bed.

Haymitch is sitting up. "Another nightmare," he says, shaking his head as if to shake out the memories. "I need a drink."

"No, you don't," I tell him as I start feeding our daughter. I look over at my husband. "All the booze does is keep the nightmares at bay-it doesn't get rid of them. Haven't you figured that out yet?"

He gets out of bed and puts on a robe. Great. He's going to get stubborn right when I have my hands full-among other things. "Just one drink," he says.

"Why don't you try telling me about them?" I suggest.

"You already know. I'd be telling you the same things over and over again," he says.

"You've been doing a lot better drinking less of that stuff," I remind him. "You have me and the baby."

Haymitch pauses, and I can tell he's considering.

"I know you drink because you feel worthless," I tell him. "You must not be totally worthless if you have someone like me who was willing to marry you and give you a child. This whole thing about sending tributes to die-it's not your fault, Haymitch. It was you who told me that the Careers were trained to be lethal. You let a vicious cycle start. You need to break it."

"You're still having nightmares and you didn't send tributes to die," he points out. "Sweetheart, as I told you before-you never get off the train." This time he's not referring to my and Peeta's star-crossed lovers tale.

"There are better ways of dealing with it," I say, though I wish I knew what better ways there are. I do know that drowning your troubles in alcohol does more harm than good.

"Like what? Morphling?" he asks as he sits down next to me. He sighs.

"I love you, Haymitch, and I don't want to see you self-destruct any more," I tell him. "Try to go back to sleep. Maybe there's a place in the Capitol where you can dry out if you need to."

"Don't want to go through that again. It was bad enough in District 13," he says as he climbs back into bed. "That was one more thing I had against Coin."

Yeah. In addition to the fact that she wanted to become like Snow-but on her own terms.


End file.
